


River

by ekwadoritte



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Post-Battle, post-TPB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekwadoritte/pseuds/ekwadoritte
Summary: “I like coming here,” she admits softly. “I like sitting here.”“Any particular reason?” he asks, voice relaxed like a lazy creek. Mossfeather gets the distant idea that it’s a rare thing these days.“No,” she hums, glum. “Dunno. Maybe.”
Relationships: Graystripe/Mosspelt (Warriors)
Kudos: 7





	River

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe. More cats die in the BloodClan battle. Mosspelt is named Mossfeather. Stormpaw/fur is dead.

It’s not exactly dawn and not exactly sunrise.

The moment in which the sun is a few heartbeats from peeking from above the treetops across the river. How does one call such a time? Does a right word even exist?

Mossfeather has always been a pretty poetic cat, and so she mulls over the thought with a furrow in her brows.

She doesn’t know why she’s here up so early. ~~She knows exactly why she’s here~~. Whenever she wakes up before the sun, her paws carry her to the spot on their own.

Sleep hasn’t come easily for a long time.

A lot of cats think that the waters in this part of the river are wild, rough and raging like in the gorge separating her Clan from WindClan – nothing could be further from the truth. The lazy sound of the current doesn’t drown out the first sounds of birdsong nor the crickets’ last chirps.

That’s why the rustle on its other side catches her attention.

The warrior’s muscles tense out of habit. Times are peaceful; here, she is safe. Besides, who would launch an attack on a lone she-cat at the peak of dawn?

Still, when her new companion emerges from the ferns, her heart suddenly stops.

“Graystripe,” she greets him in a quiet exhale, but her voice still easily carries across the border.

The tom stiffens, his head jerkily turns to her side and in his eyes flashes surprise, then disorientation, _something else_ and finally recognition.

“Mossfeather,” he responds and the left corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “Nice to see you.”

 _If we met up here at night,_ she thinks inattentively, head still fuzzy with sleepiness, _that would be a lot more romantic_.

Because sometimes she forgets. She forgets that she shouldn’t.

“You too,” she hums and closes her eyes contentedly. “'S always nice to see you.”

Though she can’t really see it, Graystripe shoots her a slightly wry smile.

“You couldn’t sleep?”

Mossfeather squeezes her closed eyelids in distaste, grimacing at the words cutting into her ears like an enemy’s claws. The longer the quiet stretches, the harder it is for her not to flinch when it finally gets broken.

“No.”

Silence. Still with closed eyes, after a while of relishing in the river’s rippling, the tortoiseshell furrows her brows in concern. “You’re still here?”

“Yes,” comes his quiet answer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The she-cat lets out another hum, not quite sure how to respond, but not worrying about that more than necessary.

For a few another heartbeats they sit in silence, but now Mossfeather knows she’s not alone. She trusts him. Even though it would be easier to trust him with her muzzle in his chest.

Suddenly, something hits her. Another sharp tug of worry pulls at her peaceful face. “You couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Nah,” Graystripe responds dully, mindlessly. He sounds like it doesn’t phase him anymore. “'S been a long time since I’ve slept well.”

Finally, Mossfeather grudgingly opens her eyes, blinking a few times before, still squinting a little, she fixes him with a stare so analytical, one would think she is studying an interesting object, which’s intended use she can’t work out.

Graystripe doesn’t see her gaze in detail, but he knows her well enough that he knows; and so he starts squirming under her boring, cold stare.

“Why?” the Riverclanner finally asks, brows furrowed and an almost-pout on her lips, like it’s a puzzle so complicated that she can’t comprehend it with her mind.

Graystripe snorts.

Mossfeather’s brows furrow even more and meet in the middle of her forehead and the almost-pout becomes a _full-on_ pout. “ _What_?”

“Nothing,” Graystripe purrs, flashing her a faint smile. “Sometimes I forget the way you can be. The little things.”

The she-cat feels like that should sober her, like that comment isn’t something he should be telling her at the border, but fatigue makes her head dizzy and her ears ring and she doesn’t care at the moment. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” he echoes and the smile on his lips stretches just a little wider. From across the river, Mossfeather doesn’t see a difference.

But his voice is lighter. So she smiles back, feebly, dimly, weakly, exactly like she feels, exactly like _everybody_ feels even after two seasons of recovery.

“I like coming here,” she admits softly. “I like sitting here.”

“Any particular reason?” he asks, voice relaxed like a lazy creek. Mossfeather gets the distant idea that it’s a rare thing these days.

“No,” she drawls, glum. “Dunno. Maybe.”

Graystripe’s smile doesn’t disappear, instead it transforms into something _different_ , something sadder, more tender. “You know I know that you’re lying.”

She shrugs. She’s not in the mood for denying.

“That’s where I saw him for the last time.”

Immediately when the words slip from her tongue, she realizes her mistake and flinches inwardly at their sound in her ears. On the outside, she remains passive. Like she should.

Mossfeather does a lot of things like she _should_ , even now.

Graystripe’s smile slips and falls off. “Oh.”

Awkwardly, the tortoiseshell shrugs her shoulders again. “Yeah.”

Silence, again, but this time suffocating.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m closer,” she murmurs in a gentle yet firm voice, but for a heartbeat she stutters, the word crumbles on her tongue. She knows that he heard. “Closer than when I’m...”

_a beautiful place, soft soil and flowers all over the clearing--_

_\--what a pity that such sweetness hides that much raw grief_.

She’s not sure if she’s expecting a hum of agreement, a sign that he’s listening. When she doesn’t get it, she’s not _disappointed_ , per se, but something anxious turns in her stomach.

“As if I could, I don’t know,” she continues and makes a few vague gestures with her tail, awkward. The sun’s already halfway emerged from the forest’s line. “Ask him about some things. _Do you remember that day_? _How did you feel_? _Did you miss me after_?

The she-cat lets out a slightly shaky exhale and no, she will _not_ start crying. She blinks furiously a few times and the tears retreat to the back of her eyes. “It’s just unfair he couldn’t be a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” Graystripe meows softly. With guilt.

Mossfeather meets his eyes yet again, confusion giving her orbs a harsh edge she isn’t aware of. Old habits die hard. “I don’t understand for _what_.”

Graystripe ducks his head, avoiding her stare like a kit caught by its mother doing something it shouldn’t. “I took the kids to ThunderClan. Without a bigger plan, under an impulse- they didn’t… they didn’t even have time to say goodbye.”

A note of understandment, her gaze softens a bit. “Graystripe-”

“You didn’t know if they were _alive_.”

The words cut deep into her heart, hidden behind a shield of apathy and indifference.

_\--if you behave, we’ll tell you the truth_

She could have omitted that all, she could have broken out, _resisted_ -

“I don’t blame you for that,” she assures him in a soft, sad voice. It’s mournful. It’s full of sorrow. But it lacks any bite, resentment or anger, because Mossfeather could never really _do_ anger and…

And anyways, even if she could? How could she stay angry at _him_?

“They’d kill them here,” she tries to comfort him, gently close the mouth of his conscious so that he’s able to breathe, tuck herself under his chin with the confidence of the whole world, saying _I’m not angry_ , saying _stop. Enough_.

Because sometimes she _really_ forgets, honest.

Her words don’t persuade him, she knows. She knows _him_. She’s known him for so long. She’s aware of the way his mind works, what always makes him laugh and what he’s governed by ~~and where his loyalties lay~~ and so she can just _see_ when he’s haunted.

Graystripe slowly lets out a breath that he’s been holding. Mossfeather counts to eight in her brain and now she is sure that it gnaws at him. “Still. I’m sorry. You should have known.”

“I have my daughter.” _Our_ daughter. A loving smile, full of pride and warmth, lights up a spark in her dull ice-blue eyes. “It’s still more than I’d ever dare beg the stars for.”

“I miss you,” falls from his mouth.

Mossfeather blinks with surprise, one, two, three. She waits a few heartbeats to make sure she heard right, even though she knows that it’s highly unlikely she didn’t. “We miss you, too.”

Graystripe shoots her the widest grin she sees on him that day, but somehow it manages to be the heaviest and most grevious at the same time.

“Will you visit soon?” the tortoiseshell warrior asks quickly, trying to force the words out of her throat before it constricts.

“I’ll try,” Graystripe vows and even from that distance, Mossfeather can see the spark of resolve, a promise in his yellow gaze.

A small smile tugs at her lips now, too, because she knows he’s not lying.

_I’ll try._

Such sweet words, honey for her broken heart, sticky and golden and _warm_ , filling the cracks in her soul she wasn’t aware of. A hope that she clutches onto. A guarantee of something to wait for.

“I’m glad I found you,” Graystripe breaks the silence again. His voice has this fond, special undertone that’s intended just for _her_ , hidden beneath the fatigue and nostalgia.

Somehow, she feels like he means something more than just bumping into her at sunrise.

“You too,” she agrees politely. Mostly because it’s true. And because she knows that he can read her better than others _too_ , because she knows he’ll _understand_. “I’m serious.”

The left side of his mouth stretches a little wider than the right one. If she stares at it hard enough, she can forget for a moment that nothing’s the way it should be.

“May StarClan light your path,” the Thunderclanner wishes her, seemingly neutral, but with a hint of a purr that you can only hear if you’re expecting it.

“Come visit soon,” Mossfeather invites. Her whiskers twitch warmly, with a fondness she’d deny, had somebody asked her about it. “Feather and me, we’ll be waiting.”

Graystripe’s mouth twitches again. “Sure.” Slowly, he rises from the ground and turns around, looking at her over his shoulder and dipping his head in a goodbye. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” Mossfeather meows and her response lazily flows across the river. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.” The ferns rustle again, sway slightly when the tom slips in between their leaves, and then she’s alone yet again.


End file.
